Penniless, homeless, anduseless.
Needing a distraction from the restlessness itching through her, she padded over to a bookcase crammed with tomes of all shapes and sizes.
Last night, Cassandra had run her fingertips along the multi-hued leather spines, shocked to find a familiar title—the first book in Xenia’s favorite series. The one about the outcast princess who overcame her fears and shortcomings, rounded up a band of like-minded rebels, and saved her long-lost kingdom from a tyrannical usurper. All while falling in love with a dashing, handsome prince, of course.
Cassandra had plucked the book from the shelves, nestled under the covers, and inhaled the story with a fervor she’d rarely experienced while reading. Journeying though the trials and tribulations of Princess Arelinn made her feel closer to Xenia, despite their separation.
She’d burst into tears at the cliffhanger ending, when the evil, usurper king took Arelinn’s lover hostage.
Tristan must’ve heard her strangled cries through the wall they shared; he’d dashed into her room, a delicious, shirtless sight in low-slung cotton pants and sleep-mussed hair.
Her mouth had dried out and her tears evaporated at the sight of his broad, muscle-bound chest and sinfully carved abdominal muscles.
Once he’d realized she was unharmed, his tempting lips curved into a smug smile as he leaned against the door frame and rustled his feathers. “If you wanted to see me naked, Daredevil, all you had to do was ask. No need for such a dramatic ploy.”
She’d huffed and the pillow she flung bounced off the door as he whipped it closed.
“Goodnight,Cassandraaahhh,” he’d purred, returning to his own room.
A shudder had escaped her as warmth pooled low in her belly.
Stupid, horny, traitorous body.
Tonight, she plucked up the second book in the series, then climbed into bed and began flipping through the pages.
Princess Arelinn’s adventures were not quite distracting enough this evening.
Every time she tried to start the first chapter, a vision of Tristan’s anguished face as he’d blasted away this morning floated into her mind.
She still couldn’t discern the reason for his exile, was unbearably curious about the exact cause. She refused to pry though. If he wanted to tell her, he’d tell her.
But she was determined to keep her guard up around him, and didn’t know if she could stomach another blow like the one she’d been dealt this morning.
Friends, roommates, business partners—that’s all they’d be from now on. All she felt capable of.
No matter how delectable he’d looked without his shirt on.
* * *
Thunk.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Cassandra's white cotton duvet pooled around her waist as she jolted upright, squinting at the undimmed sconces.
She rubbed the haze of sleep from her eyes as she swung her legs off the bed, jostling the open book nestled in her blankets.
Thunk.
She crouched below the window sill to avoid discovery by whatever…thingwas making that noise outside. Pulling aside the diaphanous silver curtain, she peered into the backyard.
Thunk.
Tristan’s wings glimmered in the moonlight as he drove his fist into the wooden fence.
Thunk.
